


In the Darkness Bind Them

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Middle Earth Setting, Feudal System, First Meetings, Fluff, I don't know what my game plan is for this one, M/M, More tags to be added, began as a crack!fic, but until I do I promise not to leave off on any major cliffhangers, getting more serious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: Edward Nygma is an assistant in Gondor's Houses of Healing, brought along as a member of Captain Boromir's company to represent Gondor at the Council of Elrond. But when he goes wandering one night, mesmerized by the beauty of Imladris, the course of his fate is altered.After all, two men lost in thought, neither paying attention to where they were going, on a narrow bridge without handrails is bound to be dangerous.Now there is a wounded stranger is his bed and Edward can't say a word because he may have just inadvertently started a war.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a couple of headcanons about how the Gotham characters would fit into Middle Earth, but I'm too big of a fan of both, so it turned into something longer. As mentioned in the tags, I don't have a clear plan for this, so I'm going to try to end each chapter in a way that is at least mostly satisfactory, in case I get caught up and don't come back to it. That being said, I have a lot of ideas for what I could do with this & I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did coming up with it.
> 
> Enjoy!

The air pressure was different. It was the first thing Ed had noticed upon leaving his chamber two days after his arrival. A two-week journey with horses compared to a two-month or more journey on foot was not a debate in the eyes of the Steward of Gondor, and a healer's assistant's assistant would simply have to deal. Lee had been kind enough to let him ride in a supply wagon, despite his being able-bodied, but the proximity was still too great. It was the most Ed had cursed his horse allergy in a decade.

Now fully recovered, Ed found himself wandering the halls of Imladris, a city he had only ever read about previously. The architecture was even more elegant than the Numenorian stonework of Minas Tirith that had once impressed him into speechlessness. But the structures were far from the grandest feature of Rivendell. No, the unearthly, seamless way the elves had married constructs with nature was what truly left him awed.

And currently, he was staring at the crown feature: the waterfalls. Magical, almost, they appeared to glow in the light of the setting sun. Ed felt overwhelmed - the sights, the sounds, and the air pressure making him feel stronger, calmer, than he could ever recall being in his life. Rivendell made _him_ feel magical.

Which was why when he took a deep breath and a step back, he genuinely hadn't noticed the person that had been passing behind him.

Which was unfortunate because for some inexplicable reason, literally _no one_ in Middle Earth built handrails on bridges.

Which was how Ed ended up tearing down the stairs at breakneck speeds to ensure that he had _not_ just broken a stranger's neck.

"Oh dear, are you okay?" he asked, more to himself as his hands fluttered around the unmoving form on the ground. The fall had only been about ten, maybe fifteen feet, and he'd landed on dirt not stone (thank Manwe), so there was a chance the man would be alright. Ed made short work of checking his condition, finding a steady pulse but a gash to the shoulder and what would probably be some nasty bruising in the near future. The worst of it was the fact that the man did not seem lucid, although he wasn't _unconscious_ , which was a small blessing. He was ill equipped to deal with head trauma.

"Hey, don't panic," he said, forcing himself to follow his own instructions, "I'm a healer. I'm going to pick you up, now, and take you somewhere where I can treat you, okay?"

He did not receive a decipherable response from the man, but he hardly cared. He wasn't about to _leave him there_. Sliding a hand under the man's shoulders, careful of the gash, and under his knees, Ed lifted him up, swaying slightly from the strain. The last time he'd had to lift anything this heavy...

Well, he'd closed that chapter on his life and it wasn't worth thinking about. He was Lee's assistant now and as far as anyone was concerned, Edward Nygma's life began the moment Bullock had caught him in the back of the wagon and dragged him before Lord Denethor.

Oh how he'd grovelled back then, pleading that he had skills, _that he was useful_ (or could be), begging to be given a chance to prove himself worthy of Gondor. Denethor, luckily, was a man easily swayed by grovelling and he determined that he would be best served by Ed's knowledge of medicine. The first few years had been almost as miserable as the rest of Ed's life, considering his direct supervisor was a complete imbecile. But after Ed had sabotaged the man's position (a necessary action, he justified, as the man would get patients killed on a regular basis) he'd acquired a supervisor worthy of his respect in Lee. Lee was of Numenorian blood - it was obvious in both her demeanor and fortitude - but she had been raised far from city life. Her position had been enthusiastically granted after she'd, quite by accident, saved the life of Denethor's favorite son while in the field.

Still, Ed wasn't about to complain, or call nepotism in some convoluted fashion, like the man she'd replaced did. Lee was nice.

But that didn't mean she would forgive him for the situation he presently found himself in. What if the man in his arms was important? Ed hated the idea that some lives were worth more than others (especially because he knew his own was worth so little), but he was not stupid and he knew that if this fellow was high ranking, he might have just accidentally started a war.

Oh how he hoped this guy wasn't a skinny dwarf. Dwarves can hold a grudge a _terrifyingly_ long time.

No, he needed to run damage control on his own. He wouldn't tell anyone about the injured man until he'd had a chance to talk to him and apologize, at the very least. And he'd ensure the man was well cared for beforehand.

Reaching his quarters without being seen was simple enough. Most people, from all delegations, were attending some social gathering or other at this time of the evening. Ed dearly wanted to go to one of the elves' poetry sessions (for which Lord Elrond was so famous) but he didn't feel up to a crowd on this particular day. He hoped he'd have the chance sometime during his stay.

Opening his door with a half-conscious man in his arms was a bit of a challenge, but Ed lived for a good puzzle, and eventually he managed to deposit his burden on the bed and shut the door. The mystery man was slipping further and further into unconsciousness, so Ed grabbed his supplies, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. They were both in for a long night.  



	2. A Long Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald has never gotten blackout drunk before, but how else could he have ended up in a strange bed with a strange man nearby while feeling like he has the hangover of the age?  
> Well, things might not be as bad as he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think my posting plan is that I'll post a chapter as soon as the one after it is complete. And as of right now I think I'll be switching POV each chapter so Ed/Oswald/Ed/Oswald/etc. and maybe throw in a few other POVs here and there.

Oswald blinked. He blinked again. His eyelids felt extraordinarily heavy, and his gaze was clouded from sleep. When had he fallen asleep? He remembered going out to send along some information with one of Dis' ravens and heading back for his quarters, but that was where his memory of the previous night ended. Had he gotten drunk? Why? His head certainly felt like it was suffering from a bad hangover.

But there was something else wrong. He frowned, trying to figure it out without having to move. His body was too sore and his head too painful to get up. He closed his eyes against the glaring light of the moon and...

Oh. Now that _was_ odd.

Why was the moonlight streaming in from his right? Oswald's room was set up so that the windows were to the left of the bed.

He forced his eyelids open to take stock of the situation. The room he was in was not his own, that much was certain. From the lack of his belongings to the pungent smells at hand, everything around him was unfamiliar.

Perhaps he'd drunk himself under the table and someone had carried him off to privacy?

His eyes caught movement and he glanced to the side, spying the back of a lanky man who was humming to himself as he mixed some sort of concoction.

"What's that?" Okay, so maybe not the most pressing matter, but Oswald was curious. The odd smell seemed to be coming from it.

The man jumped as if caught and turned around, hands in front of him in the air, a placating gesture.

"You're awake! How are you feeling?"

"Miserable."

"Oh. I'm terribly sorry about that. This," he held up the jar in which he was mixing his herbs, "should help with the headache. I suspected you'd have one when you came to."

"Am I hungover?"

"Er, not exactly," the man glanced down and away, as if embarrassed.

"Then how did I get here?"

"Long story," he mumbled.

"Go on."

"Um, I may have, well," he stumbled over his words, "It's possible I accidentally knocked you off a bridge."

Oswald stared at him.

"Sorry?"

And then the man backed up, bumping his work table, because Oswald had started to laugh, low and quiet.

"What?"

"That wasn't a very a long story."

"Oh."

Oswald slowly dragged himself up into a sitting position, trying to get a better grasp on his situation, "Okay, so you knocked me off a bridge. Did I hit my head?"

"Yes, I think, although the damage can't be too severe. You were half-conscious until I gave you something to put you under while I sewed up your back. Your shoulder hit a sharp rock on the way down, I think."

"Great," he said, rolling his shoulders gently to try and feel the injury.

"Be careful!" the man darted forward, hands stopping a few inches away as he hovered, "You don't want to rip the stitches."

"I'll be fine. I've survived worse."

"I know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he growled, not liking the confidence behind those two words.

"Nothing, nothing," the man took a step back again, "I saw some of your scars when I was sewing up the gash, is all. You have a couple of nasty stab wounds."

"Don't I know it," Oswald sighed, the fact that he was shirtless with nothing more than a bandage wrapped around his shoulder only now sinking in, "Alright, so what then? You carried me back here like some damsel in distress?"

"Well, more or less," the man scratched the back of his neck, some sort of nervous habit, "No one saw us if that's something you're worried about. Everyone was still out at whatever parties they were attending."

"Except you, apparently."

"I wasn't feeling ready for a crowd, I wanted to take in the sights in peace, instead."

"Huh," Oswald replied. He could understand what this man was saying, but he wasn't feeling particularly friendly, "So who exactly are you?"

"I'm Lee's assistant."

"Lee?"

"Oh, sorry, you must be from a different group. She's the head healer of Captain Boromir's faction. You know, from Gondor?"

"Ah, yes, of course. You arrived here the day before last, no?"

"We did, although I have been ill."

"That would explain why I've never seen you before," Oswald muttered, "So do you not have a name or what?"

"Oh. Yes. I do. Edward. Nygma."

How could that much nervous energy fit into one person, no matter how tall? Oswald didn't know.

"Oswald Cobblepot," he offered in return, "Ambassador of Dis to Imladris and Bree."

Edward dropped the jar he was holding, diving to the floor in order to catch it before it shattered. The heavy glass landed with a thud against his chest, and he gave a groan. Oswald recognized the sound as pain. He folded his hands in his lap and waited for Edward to reappear, allowing him to fret. He deserved some punishment for his clumsiness, after all.

"I'm so sorry, please forgive me, please don't hold it against Gondor," Edward said in a rush as he sat up beside the bed, setting the jar on a nearby chest. He rolled himself up onto his knees, hands clasped towards Oswald, the image of contrition.

"Rest assured, I will hold no grudge against _Gondor_ ," Oswald stressed the name, examining his nails as he waited for Edward to reach his unspoken conclusion. Perhaps he was being unnecessarily cruel to toy with this man, but the sound he made as his implication clicked made his small guilt worth it. Edward let out a half-gasp half-whine, almost a sob, and he fell forward slightly.

"Please, Sir, please, I didn't mean to, it was an accident, I swear! I... I can't fight you. I wouldn't if I could, it's my fault, after all, but I didn't mean it! Please don't have me killed. I can be useful," the words pouring past his lips were so familiar to Edward, not that Oswald was aware, "I can speak many languages, and I can treat almost any wound. I know it is your right to have my life, now, but please allow me to live."

Now his little joke had _definitely_ been worth it. Oswald knew he had been lost in thought himself. He had no intention of holding Edward responsible, he'd merely wanted to make him squirm a bit first (after all, his shoulder fucking _hurt_ ).

But this was something else entirely. The men of Gondor held almost as strict a code of honor as dwarves, and it would be Oswald's right to demand Edward's life in return for his injuries. Edward, of course, whether dead or alive, would owe a portion of his possessions to Lord Denethor as recompense for services lost, but that was hardly a problem.

How would it be to have his own personal servant? A healer, no less. As Dis' ambassador, he was afforded many privileges, and he was assigned many of her servants, but to have one himself? He'd never considered it.

His mother wouldn't be pleased - Edward was a man, after all, and while so had his father been, his mother was bound to remind him of the prophecy.

_Beware the horse-man._

It was why Dis only ever sent him west, away from Rohan and the horse-lords.

But that was irrelevant, anyways. Edward was a healer from Gondor. His mother would warm up to him, eventually. Elijah had been from Gondor, after all.

"Hmm," Oswald tapped his fingers in a careless beat across his other wrist, "I appreciate your honest apology. Consider me swayed. I could use a healer on the road."

Edward collapsed against the bed, chest heaving with the intensity of his emotions, "Thank you. You won't regret this. I promise."

"You can start by handing over that headache cure you mentioned."

Edward shot to his feet, rushing to administer a spoonful of the frankly foul liquid. Gagging slightly at the taste, Oswald followed the man's flitting as he moved to clean off the table. So much energy...

He could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like a lot of my AUs, I'm kind of merging the characters from all three seasons. Which comes across the weirdest with Ed because he's going to be both the cunning right-hand-man sort of fellow and the season 1 puppy, so yeah. The characterization kind of jumps around a little but I hope it works in the end.


	3. Treatment Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has been sitting on my computer for awhile... I've gotten a bit stuck, but mostly in the sense that I need to get my characters to the scene that moves the story forwards. But since I'm currently focused on editing a really long oneshot, I figured I'd update this fic. In this chapter I focus a little bit more on the /relationship/, but nothing much will happen quite yet. I'm hoping to turn this into a true slow burn/mutual pining sort of deal, but again, I don't know how far I'll take this. In any case:
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Ed wiped down the last of his equipment, setting it back within his trunk. His mind was swirling with thoughts about the man in his bed.

Oswald Cobblepot.

Just his luck that the man actually turned out to be a skinny dwarf. He cursed his earlier jest now that it had become reality.

His begging had been, for the most part, genuine. Oswald really did have the right to his life, now, and he had truly thought for a moment that he would see him executed.

That being said, he had a more selfish reason to want Oswald to claim his service. Ed loved Gondor, he loved Minas Tirith, but the people were... lacking. They were cultured, yes, but snobbish. No matter how flawless his accent, no matter how earnest his work, he was snubbed. Looked down upon.

That, and Lord Denethor was clearly losing his grasp on reality. His orders had become less and less decipherable and Gondor was beginning to fracture. Ed only enjoyed chaos when it was of his own making.

In other words, it was time to move on.

And if that meant he was subservient to a dwarven ambassador? Well, at least he couldn't be more incompetent than Denethor. And there would probably be a lot less horses.

So maybe he'd thrown in just a little extra grovelling. Hey, it had worked for him in the past.

"So I imagine I can claim your services from Captain Boromir? It would be a terrible inconvenience if I had to go all the way to Minas Tirith for the sake of one servant..."

Ed turned toward the man on the bed, "Lord Denethor would trust Captain Boromir with a decision such as that, I am sure," he left out his own bitter remarks about Denethor's _other_ son, the one Ed saw some of himself in, "but you will do nothing until you have healed properly. I outrank no one but the sick and wounded, and right now, that's you. So lie back down and let me do my job and care for your wounds. Okay?"

Oswald snorted but settled back slightly on the bed, "And how long will that take?"

"Hard to say," Ed shrugged, dipping a rag into a basin of herb-infused water and moving back to Oswald's side, dabbing it gently across his chest and arms, "Your shoulder is merely a matter of time, provided you don't rip your stitches. The skin should already be growing back together. I still need to treat your bruises, and I'll need to do so regularly, as well as washing and dressing the gash. Elves are meticulous, but they also have _spectacular_ immune systems, not to mention your being a completely different species..."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Oswald's voice was laced with curiosity, even as he tensed under Ed's fingers. Ed supposed he wasn't used to people touching him - it was a common enough reaction for a healer to face.

"Infection. I have absolutely no idea what could have gotten into your wounds, or how your body will react. I must admit, I'm a little out of my depths. Now, Lord Elrond and Imladris are well-known for healing, but then again, Dwarves and Elves are notorious rivals. Essentially, I need to closely monitor your injuries in case the unfamiliar environment interrupts the natural course of their healing."

"Oh."

"Once I finish with your bruises, I'm going to run a few tests by you just to ensure there wasn't any brain damage, either. You seem to have recovered swimmingly, but if there was any head trauma I'm going to have to get Lee and fast."

"Dwarves are notorious for their thick skulls."

Ed blinked, unsure if Oswald meant it as a statement of fact or a joke. He shook his head slightly then continued, "Indeed. Assuming everything proceeds without issue, you'll need at least one full day of rest and you shouldn't do anything strenuous or lengthy for at least a week. Normally, I would insist on two or three days in bed, but I admit I am afraid of what might happen if you were to disappear for that long."

Oswald nodded. He wouldn't have stayed in bed for three days anyways.

Ed removed the cloth, wringing it out over another basin before picking up a jar of something. He returned and perched on the edge of the bed, biting his lip as he looked at Oswald.

"Yes?" the question came out sharp, almost an order (perhaps it was).

"Can you turn over?"

Oswald stared at him, "Can I what?"

"Turn over. On your stomach. I need access to your back," he lifted the jar as if in explanation, "For the bruises."

"Oh."

After a moment Oswald nodded and carefully flipped himself over. Ed understood his hesitance - he was putting himself in a vulnerable position before the man he'd recently threatened, with nothing more concrete than honor to protect him. But he didn't know that Ed _wanted_ to go with him.

Nor was he aware (that Ed could tell) of Ed's steadily increasing attraction to him. He found himself fascinated by the contrasts in Oswald - the perfect mixture of confidence and insecurity, rage and calm, fear and courage. And his physical appearance did little to detract from the appeal, from the delicate, almost fragile structure of his bones to the scars that proved him to be anything but. Ed was intrigued, fascinated, and he had to swallow down the urge to trace the entirety of the figure before him with a gentle finger because as socially inept as he was, he knew that would make things _weird_ , and if he wanted to use Oswald as his ticket out of Gondor, then he needed to convince the ambassador that he was _worth_ it.

Instead of listening to his instincts, Ed followed his training, dipping his hand into the ointment and murmuring, "This might feel cold," before lightly pressing his fingers into the blossoming bruises on Oswald's back. Oswald shivered beneath him and Ed nodded as if the gesture could be seen. He'd treated enough of his own bruises as a child to know the oddity of the feeling. The shocking cold of the cream meeting the dull burn of the pooled blood confused one's brain.

He massaged the ointment into the bruises, attempting to soothe the undoubtedly sore muscles at the same time, pretending he wasn't prolonging the treatment for his own less-than-professional desires. Oswald let out a contented groan and he smiled to himself. See? This was for Oswald's benefit.

But there was only so long he could work without Oswald getting suspicious and then things would be right back at _weird_. Eventually he pulled away, stood up, and returned the jar to it's place in his storage chest. He retrieved the cloth again, soaking it anew and using it to wipe off any grease left by the ointment as well as for the healing properties of the herbs. Oswald sighed and Ed's fingers twitched on the cloth.

When he finally finished, washing his own hands and telling Oswald he could sit up again, he hovered uncertainly.

Oswald was leaning back, more relaxed than earlier, watching Ed with a new glint in his eye. He huffed a laugh, "Consider me sold on the usefulness of sparing your life. You are... good at what you do."

He looked as if he might say more but the look passed and he shook his head, "I suppose now I must sit through your ridiculous tests? I assure you I am fine."

"Routine," Ed replied, falling back on standard and mechanical phrases in the wake of Oswald's compliment, "Because failing to catch something would be disastrous."

"Of course."

"This would be easier if I knew personal things about you, but I'll have to trust that your answers are honest. If you can't answer a question, you _need_ to tell me. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Then let's begin."


End file.
